Cuts without a Knife
by Cheshire
Summary: Just another day in the life of a serial killer....SylarXMohinder. Dubcon. Dark.


Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC, Tim Kring, et. al., and is being used here solely for enjoyment. Nothing of monetary value is being exchanged.

**A/N: This fic has been slightly modified from the original in order to bring the rating down. The original fic can be found at my fandom livejournal (see my profile).**

**Cuts without a Knife****  
**

"Mohinder, I'm home!" Sylar strode into the apartment, door closing and locking behind him. "I stopped at that Indian restaurant you like." He set a large paper bag down on the kitchen counter and continued deeper into their home. "They recognized me from the last time we went together, so I know they gave me the good stuff, not the cheap food they give to the average non-cultured American."

He opened the bedroom door, spending a moment leaning against the frame and taking in the vision before him with a soft, loving smile. Mohinder was splayed out on the bed, the afternoon light glinting off the locks of his hair and the wetness of his eyes. He shifted, letting out a muffled noise, and Sylar continued to the bed, sitting on it and cupping Mohinder's chin.

"I see we were a bad boy, today." He motioned to Mohinder's wrists, raw and bloody where he had struggled against the cords binding them. "I know we had so much fun last time you 'escaped,' but I really wish you'd stop hurting yourself. You know I had to go out and search for someone with healing powers just to make sure you didn't damage yourself."

Mohinder gave a sob. Sylar brushed the tears falling from his eyes away and took hold of one edge of the duct tape placed over Mohinder's mouth, pulling hard and wincing in sympathy with Mohinder's sharp gasp of pain. Then he continued, freeing Mohinder's legs, then arms, massaging the muscles as he moved the cramped limbs.

"We'll have a shower, then dinner," his voice was bland as he gathered the crying Mohinder into his arms, rocking him and letting out the occasional shushing noise. "There's a special on xenotransplants on tv tonight I think you'll like."

After five minutes of sobbing and barely suppressed dry heaves, Mohinder had calmed down somewhat. Sylar stood and brought Mohinder along, leading him on his weak, shaking legs to the bathroom. He sat Mohinder on the toilet while he undressed. Mohinder, already naked, was put into the shower first, after Sylar had made sure the water temperature was perfect.

"I have so much to tell you about my day." Sylar talked throughout cleaning the both of them. He took extra care with shampooing and conditioning Mohinder's hair, knowing what trouble those curls could be and not wanting to have to cut it again. "I met one of your friends: Officer Parkman. And his wife, and their baby boy. Such a lovely couple."

Mohinder had tensed at the words, struggling against Sylar's hold with jerky, startled motions. Sylar pressed him into the wall of the shower, spreading his legs, ignoring any fight he put up as if it didn't exist. "And Parkman was so very useful," he continued as he made an upwards thrust, spearing Mohinder. "He wasn't using it half as well as he should have been, of course. And what a precocious kid!" Sylar had set his pace, quick and hard, leaving Mohinder's cheek pressed against the cool tile and his hands squabbling to get a handhold on the wet surface. "Three years old and already showing an ability."

Sylar dropped a hand to give Mohinder's length a few rough strokes, ordering him to come in a pleasant tone. Mohinder was too well trained not to, his orgasm ripped out of him with more pain than pleasure. Sylar came a few thrusts later, grunting. He pulled out and washed them both off.

"It almost makes me want to have some kids of my own, but I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for someone with the power to change another person's gender." They stepped out of the shower. "Besides, I don't think I'd like you as a woman."

Toweling them off, he took the time to speed dry Mohinder's hair with a convenient mixtures of fire and wind control. They went straight to the couch, nude. Sylar turned on the television while putting the food onto plates, reheating it, then floating it to them. Mohinder tried to curl into a ball and Sylar chuckled, pulling him to sit in between his legs, instead.

"And you know the best thing about finding Parkman?" He fed Mohinder by hand, luxuriating in the feel of those shivering lips against his fingers. "He had a letter from darling Claire on his kitchen table. It didn't have a return address, but it was marked from a little town in Texas. You and I might be taking a road trip." He laid a kiss on Mohinder's cheek, lips coming away wet with salt. "I'm feeling so nostalgic. You can call me by another name and we can pretend we're trying to help people. It will be like a second honeymoon."


End file.
